


Sigils

by rileywrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demon Hunters, Demon Hunter Derek Hale, M/M, Magical Lydia Martin, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Open Ending, pre-slash mostly, sbflowercrown, sbtattoos, sbwitchfamiliar, sterekbingo, sterekbingo2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 15:48:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rileywrites/pseuds/rileywrites
Summary: After a near-death experience, Derek needs to find someone powerful enough to repair his protection runes. He ends up in Arizona, outside a shop called "Hunter's Moon," waiting to meet a witch of unknown age and order.He was not expecting whiskey-eyes and broad, comforting hands along with a killer wit.





	Sigils

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a thing! It is a Christmas Miracle! Yes I realize it is May.

The last hit Derek took shredded what was left of his protections.

"This is what happens when you try to take on an Ancient One alone," Braeden scolds as she cleans and bandages his wounds. "You're lucky you aren't dead right now, you know that, right?"

"I know." Derek grits his teeth to keep from yelling. "I fucking know."

"You'll need your whole back redone, which is going to take weeks unless you can find a higher-order witch than Morell."

"Deaton is in Scotland, and the only other one I know who is remotely close doesn't have the skills necessary. We're in the middle of fucking nowhere, Brae." Derek yelps. "Easy!"

Braeden hums. "I think I know a guy. A friend of that amateur hunter I rescued a few years back. I've seen his work, and he's high-order."

"Fine. Fine, whatever, I need to get my shit redone before that Ancient One decides to toy with me again, or I'm not coming out of it alive."

"I'll call Isaac, see if I can get an address."

…

Hunter's Moon tattoo shop looks like any high-end tattoo shop from the outside. It's clean, the advertising is decent, and the neighborhood is nice.

Derek is sure he must be lost, until he looks at the sigils around the door frame. From what he can tell, it's strong shit, the building locked down against basically any threat you could think of. 

This must be the place.

Derek walks in, trying not to limp too much, and walks over to the front counter. A gorgeous woman with red-gold hair is working the front, eyes on her computer. Her name tag reads Lydia.

"Excuse me, I, ah-- I have an appointment with the owner?" It comes out a question. 

The woman looks at him, and for a moment her eyes flash green with cat-like pupils. Derek only catches it because the Ancient One didn't ruin his Sight.

"You're Derek Hale, that huntress' friend." She does not seem impressed. "Full back piece?"

"Yeah, that's me. I take it I'm in the right place?"

"You're in the right place." Lydia hands him a clipboard with several pages and a pen. "Start filling those out, but don't sign anything until after your consult. Do I make myself clear?"

"Don't sign anything. Got it." Derek sits in the waiting area and starts filling out forms. 

They start normal - allergies, HIV status, etc. - and get progressively weirder as he goes through the pages. The first two are just the consent form and the aftercare instructions, but pages three through six are far more specific.

  1. _What is your history with magical tattoos? Have you ever had them done traditionally with stick and poke? Have you had them administered by a fae-person or other supernatural being?_


  1. _What is your star sign? Do you know what moon you were born under? Do you give a single damn about horoscopes?_


  1. _Are you a hunter? If so, what is your body count?_


  1. _If given the opportunity, would you be open to donating blood?_



Derek answers the questions to the best of his abilities, despite the bizarre nature of most of them. Braeden said this guy was one of the best, and he has to trust her.

The last page is the magical consent form, and if Derek squints he can see that the paper is embedded with a binding sigil of some sort. This witch doesn't fuck around.

Like the terrifying woman said, he doesn't sign anything.

…

The witch is a tall, gorgeous man with a droopy flower crown on his head. Derek is distracted both by his beauty and by the crown in equal parts.

"Derek, man, I've heard good things." He extends a hand, and Derek shakes it. "Don't mind my appearance, I have a goddaughter who insists I wear what she makes me."

He starts walking toward the back, and Derek follows.

"She's beginning to find her flow with magic, and the kid is all plants." Stiles gestures to his crown. "This one is to bring happiness. Anyway, welcome to Hunter's Moon. Call me Stiles, it's all the name I need thanks to an unpronounceable Polish given name. You've already met Lydia-- she's both the best office manager on the planet and the best familiar a witch could ask for."

That explains the cat eyes.

"Come, sit down, we'll go over your paperwork and discuss what you want from your ink today-- or possibly for longer, depending on the scope of the work. Can I get you something to drink?"

It's the first pause since he started talking.

"Water would be nice, thank you."

Stiles grabs a bottle from a mini-fridge, tosses it to Derek, and sits in his desk chair.

"Let's talk technicality. I read all your paperwork, but I want you to tell me. What happened, and how can I help?"

Derek goes through the whole story, starting with the minor demon he killed in some tiny town in Arizona who had been possessing the townspeople and causing havoc. The demon was a minion of one of the angrier Ancient Ones, who held a grudge. 

"…so by the time Braeden and the others were able to find me, I was almost dead. The sigils saved me, but he sapped them of what was left of their power. My magic is gone, except for my Sight."

"Deaton does good work, since you're sitting here." Stiles frowns. "Let me see the damage, so I know what I'm working with."

"Do you have a healer?" Derek carefully unbuttons his shirt, shrugging it off with a wince. He couldn't manage a t-shirt this morning. "I'm still a fucking mess."

"I am a healer." Stiles comes around the desk to inspect the bandages. "May I touch your shoulder? I won't have to unwrap you to see the damage."

"Yeah, go ahead. Whatever you need to do."

Stiles' hands are large and warm, spanning his one unsullied shoulder easily. The weird prickle of diagnostic spells flows into him, and Derek has to focus on not squirming.

"Good god, man, it's a fucking miracle you aren't dead." Stiles frowns, and Derek gets lost in his gaze for a moment. "You just barely survived that attack, and you'll need some serious reconstruction before I can do your piece."

"I need the sigils back as soon as possible." Derek feels exposed, vulnerable without his blood magic.

"If you want me to put you back together now, instead of waiting, it will cost significantly more."

Derek laughs, dry and brittle. "I'd rather pay you more now than die when he finds me again."

"Fair enough. Let's get to work."

…

Once all the paperwork is signed, Stiles takes Derek to one of the rooms and has him sit. He washes his hands and pulls on a pair of gloves.

"I'm going to unwrap you piece by piece, so I don't have to worry if something bleeds too much. Are you good? Feel up to this?"

"If you can make the pain stop, I don't care what it takes at this point. Just… do it, I guess."

Stiles doesn't look convinced, but he starts to unwrap the bandages anyway. He starts on Derek's abdomen, peeling back the tape gently and exposing the red-black stab wound that just barely missed any of Derek's important internal organs. He puts the bandage back over the wound with a sigh.

"I can do normal wounds by hand, but this is going to take more." 

Stiles rolls over to a cabinet filled with tiny drawers and starts pulling out herbs, seeds, and other mysterious powders. He measures out bits of this and that into a mortar and pestle and starts grinding it all together.

"Lydia keeps trying to convince me to get a food processor, but I'm fairly old school." Stiles winks, and something occurs to Derek.

"Wait… how old are you?"

"Don't worry about that. Just know that I'm very good at what I do."

Derek takes the hint and doesn't keep talking. He contents himself with watching the witch at work, those large hands working delicately despite their size. Nearly every visible inch of Stiles' body has some sort of ink on it, and if Derek focuses his Sight, some of them move constantly. There is a little red fox that lives on his bicep that occasionally runs in circles before settling to sleep.

Can tattoos be sentient?

How powerful is this person?

Why is that flower crown not ruining the appeal?

Stiles adds some sort of oil to the mixture and rolls back over to Derek with the tincture and some clean bandages.

"I'm going to apply this and re-cover it. You may have to leave everything overnight, in which case, I'll ask you to stay here. We've got spare rooms upstairs, and it will make me feel better about your progress. Now, deep breath, this may sting a little." 

"Motherfucking HELL!"

"Or a lot."

If Derek wasn't distracted by trying to breathe through the pain, he would sass this motherfucker right back.

Once the stab wound is packed with whatever the fuck is in the tincture from hell, Stiles turns his attention to Derek's shoulder and the claw-marks that score it. 

More mixture, more watching, more moving tattoo contemplation. Derek is more prepared this time when Stiles applies the salve, but the hurt is different.

"Wh-why do they feel different?"

"Different parts of the body, different internal structures. It's more efficient to specialize. Now, for the big problem."

His back.

Stiles has Derek turn around in the chair and kneel, so he can get to his back without putting undue pressure on the stomach wound. Derek rests his arms on the back of the chair and his head on his arms.

The bandages pull when Stiles removes them, and Derek ends up cursing a blue streak when his congealed wounds open anew.

"Hush." Stiles lays a hand on an intact piece of skin, and a cool wave engulfs Derek's mind. "There. I can't keep it long, but it's safer than re-bandaging at this point. Besides, I need to see the damage." 

Without the pain or the distraction of watching Stiles, Derek drifts in a doze for god knows how long. 

Stiles takes him out of stasis to apply his tincture, and Derek nearly swallows his tongue in the pain.

 

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, why-- why is it-- Jesus."

 

"I'm untying what's left of the bonds and removing your old sigils, so I don't have to work around them. It's painful, but it makes both of our lives easier in the long run. We discussed this, remember? It was in the consent form you signed."

The pain makes it hard to pull up the memory.

Stiles' hand lands on the back of Derek's neck, and he forces himself to focus on the weight, the warmth.

"That's it. Deep breaths. Easy, you're doing so well." Stiles places his other hand under Derek's arm, holding him up. "Okay, keep breathing. I'm going to do some of this by hand, and it's going to hurt. I need you to just hold on for me. 3... 2... 1..."

Derek's field of vision glows gold and his mind goes blank.

…

Derek wakes with a start in an unfamiliar bed, fumbling for his knife that isn't on the bedside table. It takes his brain time to catch up with his fight or flight instincts, but he manages not to hurt himself in the lag time.

The Ancient One. The almost dying. The pain. The witch with the large, gentle hands.

There is a knock on the door, and aforementioned witch pokes his head in. 

"I felt you wake. How are you feeling?"

Derek does a brief mental systems check.

"Sore, but not nearly the excruciating pain from yesterday." He sits up carefully, trying not to jostle anything. "At least, I assume it was yesterday?"

"That was yesterday. You've been sleeping for about thirteen hours, but I figured you needed the rest. I called Braeden, by the way, so she wouldn't worry. I'm technically taking a long lunch right now. Oh, and Addie made you this."

It's a flower crown, similar to the one Stiles was wearing but with different flowers. He crosses the room and places it on Derek's head. 

It sends a shiver down Derek's spine, and his never-ending headache fades some.

Stiles is smiling. "The crown is a good look on you, if a little incongruous."

"It works," Derek says, slightly baffled. "Not much, but it works."

"She's got a lot of potential, that one. It will be interesting to see what she ends up doing in the long run." Stiles snaps back to the issue at hand. "Anyway, I need to run some diagnostics and examine what's left of your wounds."

"I'm assuming I have to get up now?"

"Not yet. I can do a lot of that here." Stiles sits on the edge of the bed. "May I touch your shoulder?" 

"Sure." Stiles' hands are warm, and the prickle isn't as marked this time. "I don't feel it as much."

"You healed a lot overnight." Stiles says, brow furrowed. "Not complete, but most of the deep tissue stuff is good. I'll be able to finish the healing today."

"Can we do my new sigils today?" 

Now that the pain is gone, he can feel that the familiar weight of magic that usually rests in his core is missing for the first time since he came of age. It's disconcerting as fuck. That magic has saved his ass innumerable times.

Stiles pulls out a phone with his free hand and starts tapping. "I've got two standing appointments this afternoon, and I want to take my time on your design. If you don't mind staying overnight again, I can probably lay the groundwork tonight and finish the details tomorrow."

Derek rolls his shoulders to work some of the knots out, and Stiles startles, retracting his hand immediately.

"I understand if you want to go and find someone else to do the ink, but--"

"No, I'll stay."

Stiles' smile is like staring into the fucking sun. Derek is definitely staying.

…

Derek spends his afternoon in the guest room, working on the latest case file Braeden sent him. He's forty deep in photos of demon victims when there's a knock on the door.

"Mr. Hale?" A girl, fairly young.  "It's Addie. Stiles' goddaughter? Can I come in?"

"Sure, kid. I could use the break."

The door opens to reveal a girl of about thirteen with messy masses of black-brown curls surrounding a pale brown elfin face with big black eyes. If Derek focuses his Sight, he can see the familiar gold aura of a witch.

"Papa said that I shouldn't bother you, but Mama said that it was okay as long as you said yes." She comes over and sits on the edge of the bed. "Have you met Mama and Papa yet?"

"Nope. You're the first person I've met other than Stiles and Lydia. Thank you for the flower crown, it's been really helpful." He gestures to his head, where the wilting remains still perch.

She grins. "I'm so glad! I only presented as magic a year ago, so it's super exciting that my spells are working."

Then, Addie looks around the room like they might be overheard before leaning in closer and whispering, "is it true you survived an Ancient One?"

"It is. It's why I'm here, so your godfather can put me back together and rebuild my magical protections. The Ancient One weakened almost all of them to the point of uselessness." Derek holds up his wrist. "Except for my Sight."

"Right, you're like… not magic. My Sight is natural." She glances at his laptop. "What are you working on?"

"A case file. There's a village on the edge of the Navajo Nation that has a succubus problem, and the Dina elders are worried that she may cross the wards. Not to mention the fact that all the people she's already killed deserve justice."

"So you'll be leaving once you're fixed?"

"Yeah. I can't stay here forever, not when there's already a hunter presence in the area. They need our help more than I need to stay put."

Addie sighs. "Darn it. Good luck with your demon, I guess."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid."

…

"So, here's your design." Stiles unfurls a large piece of paper, revealing a rough outline of Derek's back.

The design is nothing like his last one. Some familiar runes are there, but instead of Deaton's classic Celtic style, they're woven into a massive phoenix rising. It looks deeper than the old ones, almost… older. More grounded.  Derek skims his fingertips over the paper, admiring the intricate design.

"Stealth, perception, defense, and three layers that protect against varying physical injury." Stiles gestures to each series of runes in turn. He smirks, gesturing to two more. "Luck, and stamina." 

Derek doesn't know much about magic, but he knows that this is much stronger than the basic runic work Deaton wove into him. They're worked into a piece that a mundane observer wouldn't find odd, which is fucking impressive with this kind of blood magic.

"I'll have to work in several different layers." Stiles gestures to the outline of the phoenix and the runes that correspond. "These are the deepest-- protection against mortal wounds. If you like the design, that's where we start."

"It's… perfect, fuck. This is gorgeous work, Stiles." Derek stops tracing the figures to look at him properly. "What order are you?"

Stiles winks. "That's need-to-know."

"Higher than Deaton?"

"Higher than Deaton." Stiles grins. "You'll never guess, and I'll never tell. Are you ready to get started?"

"I am."

Derek peels off his shirt and lays on his stomach in the chair, listening to Stiles putter around and prepare the materials. A strawberry-blonde cat comes gliding in, eyes green-gold and glowing, and Derek fights the overwhelming urge to pet her. It would be weird.

There's a shimmer in the edge of his field of vision, and a click of high-heels on the floor.

"I found the last few things you needed. Jeanne sends her affection and her invoice."

Stiles laughs. "Put a rush on that in the morning. For now, I'm focused on getting Derek's piece started. Help me place the design?"

Stiles gently removes what's left of the salve from Derek's back and wipes it clean. 

There's a brighter glow of gold as Lydia murmurs something, and a sizzle-fizz spreads across Derek's back. He has to try hard not to wriggle at the feeling, and Stiles chuckles.

"I know, isn't it wild? Her magic is some cool shit, and it's way more reliable than transfer."

Suddenly, Derek knows how Stiles is so high-order.

"Let's get to work. This is going to hurt like a bitch, so just try and remember how to breathe. I'd ease the pain, but this is blood magic and it irritates the Powers that Be if you try to make it hurt less."

Derek clenches the sides of the chair, takes a deep breath, and nods.

The first few strokes don't hurt as much as the Ancient One did, but only barely.

Each section takes ages, and then there's some sort of incantation before Stiles moves on to the next part of his back. Derek alternates between searing pain and the invasive spark and catch of Stiles' magic. He drifts, mindless, for unknown stretches of time.

Lydia makes him drink water, but she doesn't give him food.

"You don't want to eat during this. You'll get sick." One tiny hand runs through his hair. "You're doing great, Hale. Just hang in there."

It's almost affection. He'll take it. 

…

Derek surfaces from whatever headspace he was drifting in somewhere around 2 am. The pain has dulled to a throbbing ache, and Stiles is cleaning his back again.

"Hurts," Derek croaks.

Stiles laughs. "I know. Welcome back, by the way." 

He helps Derek drink some water before he finishes cleaning his back.

"That's all we're doing tonight. It's the worst of it, and the deepest magic, so it should only be easier from here." Stiles helps Derek stand carefully, keeping his hands on Derek's arms. "How are you feeling?"

"It hurts, but it's reassuring to feel the magic in my core again." Derek's legs aren't cooperating, so Stiles ends up holding him up all the way to the elevator and up. "It feels… deeper? Which makes sense, you explained that it was more powerful magic, but it's still weird."

"It's good that you can feel it. Careful there on the threshold. Do you have any kind of sensitivity?"

Derek shrugs. "Not really? It's never manifested. I've just got a good grasp of what it does to me. That, and my sight sigil."

"Right, I forgot about that. It's a beautiful piece. Deaton's work?"

"Nah, I got it on my coming-of-age trip. There's something special about getting new magical ink at a spiritual center."

Stiles looks at it again, closer this time. "Magda, in Jerusalem. I knew the magical signature felt familiar."

"Got it in two." Derek stares at it himself. "She has a specific style, from what I can tell. I'm fond of it."

"Magda is nearly as old as the earth at this point, and she does amazing work. It's why the attack didn't ruin your Sight, you know."

"I figured. She's the highest order witch I've ever worked with."

Stiles grins, eyes sparkling. "She's even higher than me. Older, too. Rumor has it, she studied under Mary Magdalene, but I don't know how true that is."

There are people in the kitchen, a woman with dark brown hair who is wearing at least three weapons along with her pajamas and an affable guy with curly black-brown hair like Addie's. The guy is obviously a magic user, but the woman is covered in the ink of a hunter.

Fascinating.

"Derek, I'd like you to meet Scott and Allison, Addie's parents and my best friends. Scott is my right hand, as well as a vet, and Allison is..." Stiles smirks. "Security."

Even more fascinating. 

"It's nice to meet the man who has both my daughter and my leader enamored," Allison says, eyes flashing steel.

Derek looks at Stiles, eyebrows raised. "Enamored, huh?"

"Allison, seriously?" Stiles grumbles, and Allison grins. "Ignore her, fuck."

It's not a no. 

Derek will take it.

"His aura is a mess. Just how deep were you working?" Scott helps Stiles get Derek settled, sitting backwards in a chair to avoid pressure on the ink. 

"The old runes against mortal wounds are the deepest. It's what we got done with the outline today."

Derek smiles at Scott's impressed whistle.

"Damn. I'm amazed he's still conscious. Ally was out for a day after you did hers."

Allison rolls her eyes. "I was also a sixteen-year-old girl, Scott, not a hardened hunter in my thirties."

For the hundredth time in two days, Derek has to wonder just how old the witch is.

"Not to mention that blood magic doesn't compare to an Ancient One trying to rip me to pieces," Derek says dryly, smirking when it makes Stiles laugh.

Scott laughs. "Well, there is that. You should probably get some rest anyway."

Stiles hands him a mysterious green drink and a sandwich. 

"Eat, and then you can go to bed." 

Derek mock-salutes. "Sir, yes sir."

(He doesn't think he's imagining the flush riding high on Stiles' cheeks.)

The green drink is like drinking pond water, but it eases the pain enough for Derek to fall asleep.

… 

Derek sleeps in again and works on research until Stiles wraps up with his other clients.

Addie brings him lunch, along with a new crown.

"This one is to help you with the magic aching," Addie explains, placing it carefully on his head. "Blood magic sucks, and part of it is your core along with your body."

A cooling chill, similar to Stiles' stasis, runs down Derek's spine. It settles deep in his abdomen, wrapping around the tentative new connections they've been weaving.

"That's… damn, little witch, you've got some skills."

Addie blushes with a delighted grin. "Really?"

"Really. I wouldn't lie to you, kid."

"I know." Addie kisses his cheek quickly, and it's Derek's time to blush. "Have fun with your demon homework."

She's not inaccurate. With the cooling comfort of Addie's magic settled around him, Derek is able to keep working through lunch.

…

The rest of the work is almost easy in comparison to the deep foundational work from the night before.

At least, that's what Stiles is promising.

"This isn't a deep, and the blood magic isn't as vital. It's more everyday shit, so it shouldn't be bad."

Lydia lays down the pattern again, the sizzle-fizz even sharper this time over the freshly-healed layer from last night.

"I'll be in my office if you need me," she says, human form melting away to her cat form and sliding out of Stiles' office.

"If it's not too rude, what _is_ she? Because she doesn't seem like the usual familiar." Derek is entranced by the weird shift in her aura when she changes.

"She isn't. She's older, nearly as old as the Ancient Ones. There aren't many of her kind left today." Stiles starts up the tattoo gun. "Brace yourself."

Derek does so, muffling his pained groans with his fist.

"You promised this would be better," he grits out after Stiles finishes the next round of outlines.

"Think about it, it is. It's just not painless."

"Gimme… gimme a minute." The layers of pain are starting to build on one another, shattering his ability to concentrate.

Stiles comes around the chair and crouches in front of him. One of those big, steady hands pets his hair, with those honey gold eyes staring up at him. If Derek focuses, he can see the tiny murder of crows on Stiles' neck fly in circles from collarbone to collarbone.

"That's it, Der. You're doing so well for me. Just keep breathing, that's all you've got to do."

Keep breathing. Derek can do that.

When Stiles returns to his work, Derek is able to calm himself into a drifting state between consciousness and slumber, letting the man do his job without further panic.

…

"There you go. All set." Stiles hands Derek a huge hand mirror and whirls him to face the big wall mirror. "See what you think."

It's stunning. It's stunning, and Derek loves it, and yet he keeps looking at Stiles in the mirror instead of at his back. Finally, he turns around.

"I love it, thank you so mm-"

They're kissing. Derek is still standing there shirtless, and Stiles' hands end up on his waist, and it's like they've been doing this their whole lives.

(Later, down the line, they'll bicker over who leaned in first. Lydia, who knows things, insists that Stiles simply fell into Derek, and there was no intentional leaning at all.)

(Addie, who knows better, is pretty sure they leaned in at the same time.)

When they part, Stiles keeps his eyes resolutely closed.

"I should _not_ have done that," he mumbles, shaking his head. "I didn't even ask--"

Derek closes the gap this time, for sure and certain. He muffles Stiles' self-flagellation with his mouth, coaxing him into a soft, lovely, _perfect_ kiss.

"I have to be at the Res in like twelve hours," Derek grumbles between kisses. "People need me."

"I've got so much work to do," Stiles agrees, guiding Derek back to the tattooing chair. "This is a terrible idea."

"We don't have to do anything," Derek points out. "We can just kiss."

Stiles smirks. "Where's the fun in that?"

…

When Derek leaves early the next morning, it's with lingering pain in his back and a delicious ache that spreads through the rest of him.

(He didn't let Stiles heal the hickeys, or the hand-shaped bruises that frame his hips.)

The door to the shop closes behind him, and there's a flower crown hanging on the door with his name on it.

_Mr. Derek,_

_You had better come visit. You make Stiles super happy, and that makes the rest of us happy._

_This one is for good luck._

_Addie._

Underneath her note is a business card for the shop.

On the back, in chicken-scratch handwriting, it says _I'm older than three hundred. You can guess again next time._

Derek slides into a waiting taxi with his measly bag of belonging and the crown firmly atop his head.

Surely, Stiles isn't more than four hundred.

There's only one way to find out.


End file.
